Hope is Not Canceled

And then there was dawn
Cold lifting up into the heavens
Gentle breezes holding, then releasing their breath
Dampness giving way to warm golden light
Ripples sweeping across rocky shores
Songbirds restoring Earth's gentle heartbeat
Stems with rainbows pushing aside black dirt
And then there was dawn - Norma Manning

Years ago I wrote poetry for my family as a way to help them navigate the difficult trails on which they were traveling. Last week as the isolation became too much, one of my daughters confided, "I feel like I am wearing a heavy coat." This caused me to leaf through my poems. The trouble with my poems is that they won't ever sit still. Each time I read through them, I feel a restless need to edit. For example, today I began rewriting my second verse "Cold lifting up into the heavens" as it doesn't make much scientific sense, cold air after all does not rise. In the end I pushed back the urge because my poems have less to do with science and more to do with feeling. I often wonder if those who create tangible things of beauty feel the same way.

Our youngest child's first and middle name means; father's joy, first light of the sun. Born on St Patrick's day and with great debate due to only discovering her assigned gender hours before she was born, Wayne picked out Abigail and I chose Dawn. I was reminded of Abby when on my walk this morning. It had been a cold rain all day yesterday and as I made it to the back end of my neighborhood the morning sun broke through right at the spot where wildflowers were blooming. I always wonder why it is that wildflowers seemingly first appear in those places where the snow is last to melt, and why I never seem to have my camera at these moments.

I was gifted the book, Wildflowers of New England by Ted Elliman & New England WildFlower society. This is a wonderful book for people like myself as flowers are referenced by color instead of by some scientific classification. I suppose it would be just as easy to list wildflowers by habitat from my perspective; but then I'm not versed in those sorts of things. Today's find is on the edge of woods in a disturbed site. It is a tall 8 to 12 inches with smooth, oval, white spotted leaves and its flowers range from purple and blue to pink. My book has two choices, blue and red. I checked both to no avail. Seeing that it may be time to broaden my search, I fished out my Peterson Field Guides Wildflowers Northeastern/ North-Central North America by Roger Tory Perteson and Margaret McKenny. This guide isn't nearly as pretty, in other words there was real work ahead of me.

Not every poem ends with golden light and so it also seems that not every early spring bloom should grace Vermont woodlands.  Disappointingly, this pretty early bloom isn't a wildflower. After failing to find it in my field guide it became apparent that it is not a native and so I took to Google Images and found it to be Pulmonaria commonly known as Lungwort. Though not yet considered invasive, this native to Europe plant is being closely watched.

Sometimes where the spirit is involved it's best to leave field guides on the shelf; but when using your hand trowel, be sure to check the label. Secretly I hope that it's okay with my readers that I continue to admire this out of place cheery rainbow after a season of long grey days. -Norma Manning

Lungwort

Signs of hope at Miller Farm in Vernon

Signs of hope at Miller Farm in Vernon